Tag: Books

What I learned about writing – Create plot diagrams

Unlock Your Story: The Writer’s Guide to Creating Powerful Plot Diagrams

Ever stared at a blank page, a brilliant idea fizzling in your mind, with no clue how to turn it into a coherent story? You have a character, a world, a conflict—but the path from “once upon a time” to “the end” is a tangled, overgrown forest.

Every writer has been there.

The secret weapon to navigate this wilderness isn’t some magical muse; it’s a practical, timeless tool: the plot diagram. Think of it as the blueprint for your story’s architecture, the roadmap for your character’s journey. It’s the skeleton you’ll build your narrative muscle onto, ensuring every scene serves a purpose and your pacing keeps readers hooked.

Ready to go from scattered idea to structured story? Let’s build your first plot diagram.

What Exactly is a Plot Diagram?

At its core, a plot diagram is a visual representation of your story’s events. The most common model, based on Gustav Freytag’s analysis of ancient Greek and Shakespearean drama, is often called Freytag’s Pyramid. It looks like a mountain, with the story’s tension rising to a peak and then gently descending.

This simple visual helps you chart the emotional arc of your narrative, ensuring you nail the critical moments that make a story unforgettable.

Why Bother? Can’t I Just Write?

For the “pantser” (a writer who writes by the seat of their pants), a plot diagram can feel like a creative cage. But it’s not a prison—it’s a launchpad. Here’s why it’s a non-negotiable tool for professional writers:

  • Cures Saggy Middles: It forces you to plan a sequence of compelling events that build tension, preventing that dreaded second-act slump.
  • Ensures Solid Pacing: By mapping the rises and falls of action, you can control the rhythm of your story, balancing high-stakes moments with quiet reflection.
  • Prevents Plot Holes: Seeing your story laid out visually makes it easier to spot inconsistencies, forgotten threads, and logical gaps before you write 50,000 words.
  • Sharpens Your Focus: It clarifies the story’s central conflict and ensures every scene, subplot, and character decision serves the main narrative arc.
  • Saves You Hours in Edits: A strong foundation means less messy restructuring later. You’ll thank yourself when you’re not rewriting an entire third act.

How to Build Your Plot Diagram: A Step-by-Step Guide

Grab a whiteboard, a stack of index cards, or open a new document. We’re going to build a plot diagram using the classic five-part structure. To make it crystal clear, we’ll map it using a familiar story: The Hunger Games.

Part 1: Exposition (The Base of the Mountain)

This is your “before” picture. It’s the normal world where your story begins. Your job is to introduce the protagonist, their world, their desires, and the central problems that define their everyday life.

Ask Yourself:

  • Who is my protagonist, and what do they want?
  • Where and when does this story take place?
  • What is the status quo that is about to be shattered?

Example (The Hunger Games): We meet Katniss Everdeen in the impoverished District 12, a place of struggle and survival. We learn she’s the provider for her family, a skilled hunter, and deeply protective of her sister, Prim. This is her normal, albeit difficult, world.

Part 2: Rising Action (The Ascent)

An event happens—the Inciting Incident—that kicks the hero out of their ordinary world and onto the path of the main conflict. The Rising Action is the longest part of your story, a series of events and obstacles that complicate the journey and steadily raise the stakes.

Ask Yourself:

  • What single event forces my hero to act?
  • What escalating challenges will they face on their quest?
  • How will these obstacles test and change them?

Example (The Hunger Games):

  • Inciting Incident: Prim’s name is drawn at the Reaping. Katniss volunteers to take her place.
  • Rising Action: The journey to the Capitol, the dazzling but terrifying pre-Games preparations, forming an uneasy alliance with Rue, the skills assessment, the interviews—all of these events build suspense and force Katniss to adapt and strategise.

Part 3: Climax (The Peak)

This is it. The moment of highest tension, the turning point where the protagonist confronts the central conflict head-on. Everything in your story has been leading to this moment. The outcome is uncertain, and the stakes have never been higher.

Ask Yourself:

  • What is the ultimate battle my hero must fight?
  • How do they use everything they’ve learned to face this challenge?
  • What is the story’s core question that will be answered here?

Example (The Hunger Games): The final, brutal confrontation in the arena. After defeating Cato, the true climax is the standoff with Peeta. Rather than kill each other, Katniss and Peeta decide to eat the poisonous berries, forcing the Gamemakers to change the rules. This is her ultimate act of rebellion against the Capitol.

Part 4: Falling Action (The Descent)

The dust has settled from the Climax. This is the “aftermath” phase, where you explore the immediate consequences of the main event. The tension decreases, and you begin to tie up loose ends.

Ask Yourself:

  • What happens in the moments and days after the climax?
  • How do the characters react to the new reality?
  • What subplots can be resolved here?

Example (The Hunger Games): Katniss and Peeta are rescued, separated, and put under medical care. Katniss fears the Capitol’s retribution for her defiance. She must once again navigate the political minefield during her final interview with Caesar Flickerman, performing her role as the “star-crossed lover” to survive.

Part 5: Resolution (Dénouement)

The story finds its new normal. The main conflict is fully resolved, and we see how the protagonist has been fundamentally changed by their journey. It’s the destination you promised your reader at the beginning of the ascent.

Ask Yourself:

  • How has my hero grown or changed?
  • What is their new “everyday” life?
  • What is the final emotional note I want to leave with the reader?

Example (The Hunger Games): Katniss is on the train, heading back to District 12 as a victor. But the victory feels hollow. She has saved Peeta, but she is now a political symbol, a pawn in a much larger game. Her relationship with him is strained and uncertain. The status quo is gone forever, and the seeds of the rebellion are firmly planted.

Beyond the Basics: Tips for Plotting Like a Pro

  • Digital vs. Analog: Your diagram can be high-tech or beautifully simple. Use tools like Scrivener’s corkboard, Plottr, or Trello for digital flexibility. Or, go analog with a giant whiteboard, a wall of sticky notes, or a simple notebook. The medium doesn’t matter; the thinking does.
  • It’s a Guide, Not a Gospel: A plot diagram gives you direction, but don’t be afraid to take scenic detours. If your characters surprise you, let them! Just remember to check your map occasionally to make sure you’re still heading toward the Climax.
  • Try Other Structures: Freytag’s Pyramid is classic, but it’s not the only one. Explore other story structures like The Hero’s Journey or Save the Cat! for different flavours of narrative mapping.

Your next great story is an idea waiting for a structure. By creating a plot diagram, you’re not just planning; you’re promising your reader a thrilling, well-paced, and deeply satisfying journey.

So grab a pen. Start mapping. Your story is waiting.

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 3/4

Days 3 and 4 – Writing exercise

…

There was a break in the proceedings, and I had just stepped out of the room to make a call.  I had excused myself for a few minutes, but for some reason, the atmosphere in the meeting room became oppressive.

Like someone had deliberately raised the temperature to just below comfortable.

The main doors opened out onto an elevator foyer, which was by a large glass observation deck that jutted out into space.  It was meant to be a feature where one could walk onto the glass floor and look down forty floors to the street below.

And if one looked out, almost the length of Central Park, and beyond.  I made the call, but there was no answer.  That was a surprise, because someone had always answered before.

Then, one moment I was looking down, all the way down to the sidewall, and the next moment, I was sitting in a chair by the double door entrance to the meeting room.

I had no idea how I got there.

It was like I had just woken from a long sleep, opened my eyes, and there I was.

But I didn’t know or couldn’t remember where that was, except I’d been there before.

“Sir?  Sir?”  A young lady in what looked like a military uniform was standing beside me, looking concerned.

I looked up, my eyes taking a moment to focus.

“Yes?”

“Are you alright?”

An odd question.  I felt alright; there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with me.

“Do you know where you are?”

Silly question.  I knew exactly where I was.

“Taking a break from the meeting.”

She looked perplexed.  “Sir, there is no meeting.  Not today.”

She addressed me as if she knew who I was.  I tried to stand, but I could not get out of the chair.  My whole body felt like a ton of weight.

I tried to think, and it was like walking under water against the tide.  I looked around me.  I know where this is, don’t I?

And yet nothing came into my mind.  Why was I here? Where exactly was here?

“I’m sorry.  It’s confusing.”

“Are you alright?”

All of a sudden if felt like the building was spinning, or perhaps I was, and the sensation was suddenly scaring me.

I closed my eyes and prayed it would stop.

It wouldn’t. 

But before I had time to ask for help, I lost consciousness.

…

I woke to the sound of Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony.  In fact, it had been in my subconscious before waking, and was probably what woke me.

It wasn’t loud, it wasn’t coming from a specific place, it just felt like I was right in the middle of an orchestra that was playing it.

Except when I surfaced, as if I had been underwater, it was simply there, in the air, all around me.

I was lying on the floor.

Odd, because in the back of my mind, my last thought was of being in the middle of a speech, though what it was about, for the moment, eluded me.

I looked around, but there was no one else.

The thought of looking out over Central Park returned, and I sat up.

Not in a room with windows.  Not with anything other than a camera with a red flashing light, near the roof.

I couldn’t see a door, but then, the lighting was subdued.

I stood, taking less effort than I thought it might and did a circuit of the walls.  It was too dark to see properly, but there would be a door.

Somewhere.

I tried to remember what happened, how I ended up in this room.  That would remain a mystery.  Before that, there was still that impression I had been in the middle of a speech.

About?

The interference and demands by the government in the execution of clandestine operations that are deemed secret, for obvious reasons.

I think I’d reached the point where I was looking around at the sea of expectant faces, of men and women who were waiting for the final argument.

I stopped on one particular face, a woman, about my age, who was relatively old, and a surprise in a room full of people who at best were in their late 30s.

Why was she there?

And why was she positioned so that it would be very difficult to see, much less identify her?

A fractional moment before moving on, fractional enough to lose track of where I was, and what I was about to say next.

What was I going to say next?

I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.

…

Another room, very bright, with a table and two chairs.  I was sitting on one.  It was a cheap plastic single mold very uncomfortable.

The sort used as outdoor furniture is built to endure seasons of dramatic climactic changes.  I had some myself out on the deck, back at the cabin, a place I realised I should be rather than here.

Where was here, by the way?

The door opened, and an old woman came in.  She seemed familiar; I had seen her before.

Somewhere.

I never realised my memory was so bad.

She sat opposite, squirming to find a comfortable position, her expression telling me there wasn’t one.  Not for old folks.

“Emil?”

That was one of my names, but not today.

“Who?”

She smiled.  Damn, I know that face.

“Are we going to play games?”

Did we, once?  “Anastasia?  I think once I referred to you as the Tsar’s missing daughter.  You certainly looked like a Princess.”

“You remember?”

“Not exactly.  The face is familiar, and the name was dancing on the tip of my tongue.  If it is who I think you are, you look very good for a person whose been dead for twenty years.”

“You shot me.”

“In self-defence.  I still feel the aches and pains, and limp from that shot.  What did you expect?”

“I was trying to sound you so they wouldn’t capture you.”

“So, we both assumed the worst about each other.”

“You were never culturally attached.”

“You were never a maid.”

“A charming maid.”

“A very distracting maid.  Who was a spy?”

“Which made you what?”

“Still a cultural attache.  Who was asked by a weedy little man who smoked the most disgusting pipe tobacco, to find out if you were a maid.  I didn’t want to.”

“Except…”

“Weedy little men like him always have a backup plan that includes blackmail.”

“The photograph.”

Stormson, the head of the station in Moscow, believed no one, trusted no one, and treated everyone as if they were double agents.

It was not as if I didn’t know Anastasia was most likely a honey trap, and silly boys like me on first assignment overseas were the usual wide-eyed and naive fools.

“Old times.”

Except I didn’t think we were here for old times.

“I hear you retired?”  She squirmed again, and it seemed to favour her left side.  Old injury?

“A habit, in the mountains, away from prying eyes.  Peaceful, quiet.”

“Off the grid?”

“Way, way off the grid.  Why?”

“I need a favour.  You owe me.  I saved your life.”

“You tried to kill me.”

“If I had been, do you think we would be here now?”

Interesting point.  But, oddly, I knew in that moment that all of this was in my subconscious.  It wasn’t real. 

It had been triggered by seeing a face in the audience, at a briefing that had dragged me out of blissful retirement at the insistence of the man who had taken over my last job.

Ten years before.

…

Except that the only truthful part of what happened to me was that I was at a conference, delivering a pre-written speech.  My name may have added weight to the subject matter, but that was not why I was there.

The department had credible evidence that an old Russian master spy from the Cold War era had slipped into the country.  They had the blurry, almost indistinct photos to prove it.

I told them she was dead.  They told me she was not dead, and she was up to something.  They believed she wanted to see me.  That was why I was there.

And yes, I’d seen her, and yes, it had triggered an episode, and yes, now I was in hospital.  Waiting, it appeared, for her to arrive.

There was more to this than her wanting to see me.  We had a relatively minor encounter and my report back then was that I killed her.  I saw it happen.  It traumatised me for years afterwards.

It didn’t happen.  She didn’t come.  I thought she was just a ghost from my past.

A month later, they let me go home, back to the wilds of the forest, where my nearest neighbour was a mile away, where the security system I’d installed could pick up a mouse at a hundred years, a security system that had more backup systems in place than could be counted.

No one could penetrate the shield.

No one.

And yet when I got out of the car and closed the door, I could hear the strains of the Pastoral Symphony wafting down from the house. 

And by the time I made it to the veranda, she was leaning in the doorway, looking as devastatingly beautiful as always.

“Welcome home, Vasily.”

I smiled.  “Olga.  Any problems?”

“None that couldn’t be buried out back,” she waved her hand vaguely, “somewhere.  You?”

“Nobody cares about the dinosaurs anymore.  Except when they think an old adversary is back to wreak havoc.”

“I am like you, a dinosaur too.  We are dinosaurs together, yes?”

I had dreamed of this moment, and hadn’t thought the plane would work.  Not only did we have to fool my people, but she had to fool herself, a much more difficult proposition.

It only worked because of my successor.  Not a man who understood the intricate details of any case.  All results driven, at any cost, and the quicker the better.

She held out her hand.  “Come.  I have prepared a feast.”

No doubt, I thought as I closed the door, in more ways than one.

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

365 Days of writing, 2026 – My second novel 1

That dreaded second novel

…

Beyond the First Draft: How to Survive and Thrive with Your Second Novel

You typed the two most beautiful words in the English language: “The End.”

After months, maybe years, of blood, coffee, and a thousand tiny miracles, you did it. You wrote a novel. You navigated the treacherous waters of the middle, wrestled with a climax, and gave your characters the ending they deserved. There’s a euphoria that comes with that moment, a dizzying, wonderful high.

And then, a quiet question begins to echo in the silence where your keyboard’s clatter used to be.

“So… what’s next?”

For many writers, the prospect of the second novel is more terrifying than the first. The first was fueled by naivete and a story burning so hot it had to be told. It was a great learning curve, the discovery of your own voice. The second novel… that’s different. That’s the one with expectations. The one where you have to prove it wasn’t a fluke.

They say we all have one book in us. But what’s required to start the second one? It’s not just about finding a new idea. It’s about a fundamental shift in your approach as a writer.

1. Give the First Book Its Wings

Before you can even think about Book Two, you have to let Book One go.

This is harder than it sounds. Your first novel is your baby. You’ve obsessed over every sentence, every piece of dialogue. But holding onto it too tightly creates a creative bottleneck. The pressure to replicate its success—or avoid its perceived failures—can be paralysing.

Think of your first book as a beautiful bird you’ve nurtured. It’s time to open the window and let it fly. It has its own life now. Your job is not to clone it. Your job is to move on to the next nest.

2. Be a Beginner Again (Seriously)

You finished a novel. You know what a turning point is. You understand the three-act structure. You’re a veteran, right?

Wrong.

Welcome back to square one.

The sophomore slump is real because writers mistakenly believe they should be experts now. They think this next book should be easier. It won’t be. Every story is a new mountain to climb, and the terrain is always different. The only way to approach it is with a beginner’s mind: curious, open to failure, and ready to learn.

Give yourself permission to not have all the answers. The process that got you through the first draft of your first book might not work this time. Be willing to be a student again.

3. Refill the Creative Well

Writing a novel is an act of extreme emotional and creative output. It is draining. Chances are, your well is looking a little dusty and dry right now. You can’t draw water from an empty well.

You need to refill it. This isn’t a passive act; it’s a crucial part of the process.

  • Read. Read voraciously and widely. Read outside your genre. Read bad books and figure out why they don’t work. Read great books and let them remind you why you wanted to do this in the first place.
  • Live. You cannot just be a writer. You have to be a human first. Go to museums. Take a different route home. Eavesdrop on conversations in a coffee shop. Have new experiences. Your second novel’s inspiration is hiding in the living of your life, not in staring at a blank page.
  • Rest. Your brain has been running a marathon. Let it recover. Take a week—or a month—away from writing. Your story will be there when you get back, and you’ll see it with fresher eyes.

4. Find a New “Why”

Your first novel was likely driven by a story you had to tell. It was a personal demon, a lifelong dream, a world you couldn’t escape. That kind of passion is a powerful engine. It’s hard to manufacture.

The secret to starting the second novel is finding a new “why.” It can’t be about deadlines or agents or reader expectations. It has to be a story that excites you on a fundamental level. A character who intrigues you, a question that won’t leave you alone, a theme you’re burning to explore.

When you find that, the external pressure fades. You’re not just writing a “second novel”; you’re writing your next novel.

5. Embrace the Ugly First Draft (All Over Again)

You know this, but you need to hear it again: the first draft is allowed to be terrible.

Anne Lamott’s concept of the “shitty first draft” is a gift for every writer, but it’s a lifeline for the second-time author. You know what a polished final product looks like now, which makes the messy, chaotic first draft even more discouraging.

Resist the urge to edit as you go. Silence the inner critic that compares this new, messy work to the finished product of your last. Give yourself the freedom to write poorly, to write scenes that will get cut, to follow a plot into a dead end.

The magic isn’t in the first draft. The magic is in the revision. That’s a skill you honed with your first book. Trust it.

Your Next Chapter

The first novel proved you could do it. The second novel proves you are a writer. It’s the transition from a single, magnificent effort to a sustainable practice. It’s about building a career, one word at a time.

So yes, the pressure is real. But so is the experience you’ve gained. You are more capable than you were before. Be kind to your beginner self, find the story that sets your soul on fire, and start climbing.

The view from the top of this next mountain will be worth it.

What’s your biggest fear or excitement for writing a second novel? Share in the comments below!

What I learned about writing – Our stories may be guided dreams



We are told sometimes that it’s possible our writing is nothing more than a guided dream. So says Jorge Luis Borges in Doctor Brodies report.

Wow! If only I could guide my dreams.

They are a mess at the best of times and always end before I get to the good part.

That’s why I am writing a series called The Cinema of My Dreams. I lie awake at night staring at the ceiling, and instead of seeing darkness, I see the plots of my stories playing out. They never go where I want them to, but that’s because life doesn’t always play ball.

It’s the way my stories are written, an episode at a time, and not fully knowing what’s going to happen. As I write, I am writing like I’m the reader, hanging on every word, leaping from cliffhanger to cliffhanger.

Admittedly, it can be nerve-wracking, especially when an idea for the next episode doesn’t materialise, but I get there. Inspiration sometimes comes from anywhere at any time.

But most people like to have a plan, and that, to me, means you know every aspect of the story before you write it. I don’t like that because it would take too long to create the outline.

“The Things we do for Love”, the story behind the story

This story has been ongoing since I was seventeen, and just to let you know, I’m 72 this year.

Yes, it’s taken a long time to get it done.

Why, you might ask.

Well, I never gave it much interest because I started writing it after a small incident when I was 17, and working as a book packer for a book distributor in Melbourne

At the end of my first year, at Christmas, the employer had a Christmas party, and that year, it was at a venue in St Kilda.

I wasn’t going to go because at that age, I was an ordinary boy who was very introverted and basically scared of his own shadow and terrified by girls.

Back then, I would cross the street to avoid them

Also, other members of the staff in the shipping department were rough and ready types who were not backwards in telling me what happened, and being naive, perhaps they knew I’d be either shocked or intrigued.

I was both adamant I wasn’t coming and then got roped in on a dare.

Damn!

So, back then, in the early 70s, people looked the other way when it came to drinking, and of course, Dutch courage always takes away the concerns, especially when normally you wouldn’t do half the stuff you wouldn’t in a million years

I made it to the end, not as drunk and stupid as I thought I might be, and St Kilda being a salacious place if you knew where to look, my new friends decided to give me a surprise.

It didn’t take long to realise these men were ‘men about town’ as they kept saying, and we went on an odyssey.  Yes, those backstreet brothels where one could, I was told, have anything they could imagine.

Let me tell you, large quantities of alcohol and imagination were a very bad mix.

So, the odyssey in ‘The things we do’ was based on that, and then the encounter with Diana. Well, let’s just say I learned a great deal about girls that night.

Firstly, not all girls are nasty and spiteful, which seemed to be the case whenever I met one. There was a way to approach, greet, talk to, and behave.

It was also true that I could have had anything I wanted, but I decided what was in my imagination could stay there.  She was amused that all I wanted was to talk, but it was my money, and I could spend it how I liked.

And like any 17-year-old naive fool, I fell in love with her and had all these foolish notions.  Months later, I went back, but she had moved on, to where no one was saying or knew.

Needless to say, I was heartbroken and had to get over that first loss, which, like any 17-year-old, was like the end of the world.

But it was the best hour I’d ever spent in my life and would remain so until I met the woman I have been married to for the last 48 years.

As Henry, he was in part based on a rebel, the son of rich parents who despised them and their wealth, and he used to regale anyone who would listen about how they had messed up his life

If only I’d come from such a background!

And yes, I was only a run away from climbing up the stairs to get on board a ship, acting as a purser.

I worked for a shipping company and they gave their junior staff members an opportunity to spend a year at sea working as a purser on a cargo ship that sailed between Melbourne, Sydney and Hobart in Australia.

One of the other junior staff members’ turn came, and I would visit him on board when he would tell me stories about life on board, the officers, the crew, and other events. These stories, which sounded incredible to someone so impressionable, were a delight to hear.

Alas, by that time, I had tired of office work and moved on to be a tradesman at the place where my father worked.

It proved to be the right move, as that is where I met my wife.  Diana had been right; love would find me when I least expected it.

…

lovecoverfinal1

365 Days of writing, 2026 – My second novel 1

That dreaded second novel

…

Beyond the First Draft: How to Survive and Thrive with Your Second Novel

You typed the two most beautiful words in the English language: “The End.”

After months, maybe years, of blood, coffee, and a thousand tiny miracles, you did it. You wrote a novel. You navigated the treacherous waters of the middle, wrestled with a climax, and gave your characters the ending they deserved. There’s a euphoria that comes with that moment, a dizzying, wonderful high.

And then, a quiet question begins to echo in the silence where your keyboard’s clatter used to be.

“So… what’s next?”

For many writers, the prospect of the second novel is more terrifying than the first. The first was fueled by naivete and a story burning so hot it had to be told. It was a great learning curve, the discovery of your own voice. The second novel… that’s different. That’s the one with expectations. The one where you have to prove it wasn’t a fluke.

They say we all have one book in us. But what’s required to start the second one? It’s not just about finding a new idea. It’s about a fundamental shift in your approach as a writer.

1. Give the First Book Its Wings

Before you can even think about Book Two, you have to let Book One go.

This is harder than it sounds. Your first novel is your baby. You’ve obsessed over every sentence, every piece of dialogue. But holding onto it too tightly creates a creative bottleneck. The pressure to replicate its success—or avoid its perceived failures—can be paralysing.

Think of your first book as a beautiful bird you’ve nurtured. It’s time to open the window and let it fly. It has its own life now. Your job is not to clone it. Your job is to move on to the next nest.

2. Be a Beginner Again (Seriously)

You finished a novel. You know what a turning point is. You understand the three-act structure. You’re a veteran, right?

Wrong.

Welcome back to square one.

The sophomore slump is real because writers mistakenly believe they should be experts now. They think this next book should be easier. It won’t be. Every story is a new mountain to climb, and the terrain is always different. The only way to approach it is with a beginner’s mind: curious, open to failure, and ready to learn.

Give yourself permission to not have all the answers. The process that got you through the first draft of your first book might not work this time. Be willing to be a student again.

3. Refill the Creative Well

Writing a novel is an act of extreme emotional and creative output. It is draining. Chances are, your well is looking a little dusty and dry right now. You can’t draw water from an empty well.

You need to refill it. This isn’t a passive act; it’s a crucial part of the process.

  • Read. Read voraciously and widely. Read outside your genre. Read bad books and figure out why they don’t work. Read great books and let them remind you why you wanted to do this in the first place.
  • Live. You cannot just be a writer. You have to be a human first. Go to museums. Take a different route home. Eavesdrop on conversations in a coffee shop. Have new experiences. Your second novel’s inspiration is hiding in the living of your life, not in staring at a blank page.
  • Rest. Your brain has been running a marathon. Let it recover. Take a week—or a month—away from writing. Your story will be there when you get back, and you’ll see it with fresher eyes.

4. Find a New “Why”

Your first novel was likely driven by a story you had to tell. It was a personal demon, a lifelong dream, a world you couldn’t escape. That kind of passion is a powerful engine. It’s hard to manufacture.

The secret to starting the second novel is finding a new “why.” It can’t be about deadlines or agents or reader expectations. It has to be a story that excites you on a fundamental level. A character who intrigues you, a question that won’t leave you alone, a theme you’re burning to explore.

When you find that, the external pressure fades. You’re not just writing a “second novel”; you’re writing your next novel.

5. Embrace the Ugly First Draft (All Over Again)

You know this, but you need to hear it again: the first draft is allowed to be terrible.

Anne Lamott’s concept of the “shitty first draft” is a gift for every writer, but it’s a lifeline for the second-time author. You know what a polished final product looks like now, which makes the messy, chaotic first draft even more discouraging.

Resist the urge to edit as you go. Silence the inner critic that compares this new, messy work to the finished product of your last. Give yourself the freedom to write poorly, to write scenes that will get cut, to follow a plot into a dead end.

The magic isn’t in the first draft. The magic is in the revision. That’s a skill you honed with your first book. Trust it.

Your Next Chapter

The first novel proved you could do it. The second novel proves you are a writer. It’s the transition from a single, magnificent effort to a sustainable practice. It’s about building a career, one word at a time.

So yes, the pressure is real. But so is the experience you’ve gained. You are more capable than you were before. Be kind to your beginner self, find the story that sets your soul on fire, and start climbing.

The view from the top of this next mountain will be worth it.

What’s your biggest fear or excitement for writing a second novel? Share in the comments below!

A long short story that can’t be tamed – I never wanted to be an eyewitness – 8

Eight

Latanzio had given up the notion he was going to go free and escape with Angelina.  Amy had made it very clear that her father, Benito, wanted him dead, and because he had nowhere to go, least of all with Angelina, and even less likely with Gabrielle, it might force him into a corner, or unlikely as it appeared, he might make a mistake.

He hadn’t denied the fact he’d tried to kill me or seem concerned that Amy had referred to me as a very dangerous character.  Latanzio didn’t get where he was in the crime business by being scared.  He was going to be all bluster, until he worked out what was really going on, and then he would become dangerous.

But, when given a choice between the two women in his life, the fact he chose Gabrielle over Angelina said a lot.  She had been circumspect from the beginning when Amy took her into ‘protective custody’.  She was smarter than Angelina, she had to be, given what Angelina’s father would do to her if he found out.

It was time for him to be taken to Gabrielle and explain what was happening.  Amy had implied, in her discussion with Gabrielle, that his facilitated escape and subsequent survival was not assured, hinting that her employers were not happy with him over his most recent mistake in killing a witness.

I was back in front of the monitors, this time to see Fabio with Gabrielle. Amy had joined me in the control room and sat in the chair next to me.

“Ready to see some sparks fly,” she asked.

“How so?”

“We sat her down and laid the whole scenario out on the table, Fabio’s marriage, his role in the death of a rival, the planned attack on you, and the fact your people are actively seeking vengeance, and that we can’t hold you for longer than 24 hours before we have to hand him over, a time that expires in about an hour.  She also knows, in no uncertain terms, that Benito wants him dead, and that most likely will include her.”

“So not to put any pressure on him, then?”

“His options are extremely limited, and he knows it.  He can go to jail or Benito will get him.  He can go on the run, but Angelina won’t go with him.  If truth be told, she’ll probably kill him before he gets out of here.  And as for what he’s going to do about Gabrielle, that we’re about to find out.”

We watched him be escorted down the narrow passage.   A door at the end of the passage opened, and he was thrust in.  On a second monitor, in the room, we saw him stagger in and the door closed behind him. 

Gabrielle was not pleased to see him, but, unlike Angelina, she was a little more reserved in her responses, thinking, or knowing, they were at the very least wired for sound.

It seemed to me he was more in tune with Gabrielle than with Angelina. Perhaps Gabrielle came without baggage.

Gabrielle was the first to speak.  “That bitch in charge doesn’t like you, but then neither does your wife’s father.  Not a man to be crossed, Fabio, and yet you were dumb enough to do so.”

“She means nothing to me.  The old man always treated me like I was dirt.”

“And this man you killed?”

“I didn’t kill anyone.”

She frowned at him.  “You don’t lie to me, remember.  I know you have for some time now, but this thing, I need to know.  You kill him or not?”

I looked sideways at Amy.  “You ask her to ask him?”

“I did, but she told me in no uncertain terms what to do with myself.  But it seems it sowed some doubt, she’s curious herself now.”

Fabio sat down on the side of the bed and looked over at the boy lying facing the wall on a camp stretcher.  He’d looked when Fabio entered the room, but then went back to his book.

Fabio shrugged.  “It was an accident.  The fool drew a gun on me and in the wrestle, it went off and he died.  I swear that wasn’t my intention to kill him, just make him see sense.”

There could be a shred of truth in that statement, if they had wrestled for the gun, but they didn’t.  One of Fabio’s goons had disarmed him, then when he stepped away, Fabio shot him.  The goon had been horrified.  It was not what was expected of him.

She shook her head.  “That better be the truth of it, Fabio, or I’ll kill you myself.  What was the deal with the witness?”

“It has to be a fabrication, a ruse to try and convict me, but there was no witness.  I asked the boys to find this character to have a talk, but they discovered he was being held in a secret location, one they could find out about.  Now there’s suddenly all this nonsense they’re using as an excuse to hunt me down.”

“But you wanted to find him.  Why?  For him to tell the police your version of the truth?”

He was like a man bailing out a sinking ship, and not making any progress as it sank lower and lower in the water.  Gabrielle was the alligator in the water, circling, waiting.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“Actually, it does.  I’m told he survived, and he’s now looking for you.  And that means if he’s coming after you, and I’m with you, he’s also coming after me and my son.  So, here’s the deal. You want to leave here with me, you need to square away the witness, sort out the bitch from hell, and get Benito’s contract off your head.  Think you can do that?”

Tall order, with odds ranging from impossible all the way up to needing a miracle.

“Perhaps we should just take him to Benito’s house and drop him off,” Amy said.

Her attitude towards Fabio had changed from the moment Fabio had sent in a hit team.  Once she might have seen matters from a goodness and light perspective, but now, I don’t think Fabio was her list of best friends.  Not after trying to kill us, and succeeding with other members of her team.

“Or give me five minutes in a locked room with him.  I’m sure I could drum some sense into him,” I said.

She looked sideways at me, then shook her head.  “That’s not how we do things.”

I shrugged.  “It could be.  You’ve broken more rules and laws today that you’ve probably done in a lifetime.  What were you expecting to get out of this?”

I waved my hand at the screens.  What she was doing, it didn’t really make much sense.  Fabio wasn’t going to confess, and with Benito on his case, all he could do was run.  Or try to make peace with him, and give up the mistress.

“A confession.”

“Won’t happen, and I think you know it.”

Her turn to shrug.  “We’ll see.”

…

©  Charles Heath 2024

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 2

Day 2 – A sustainable habit of writing every day

…

How to Ensure That Writing Daily Is Actually Writing Daily: A Guide to Building a Sustainable Habit

If you’ve ever set a goal to write every day only to falter by day three, you’re not alone. Consistency in writing can feel like a mountain to climb—especially when motivation wanes, life gets busy, or the blank page feels more intimidating than a challenge. The good news? You don’t need superhuman discipline to write daily. You just need strategy, structure, and a plan that works for you. Let’s break it down.

1. Define “Writing Daily” According to Your Needs

The phrase “write daily” can mean different things to different people:

  • Creative writing (a novel, poems, short stories).
  • Journaling (personal reflections or gratitude entries).
  • Content creation (blog posts, emails, social media captions).
  • Freewriting (stream-of-consciousness to clear your mind).

Start by clarifying your purpose. Are you building discipline, working toward a project, or simply expressing yourself? Define what “counted” as a writing day for you. For example:

  • Write 500 words every day.
  • Spend 15 minutes freewriting.
  • Draft one paragraph of a larger project.

Clarity removes ambiguity and makes the habit feel achievable.

2. Schedule It Like a Priority

Procrastination thrives in uncertainty. To beat it, treat writing like a non-negotiable appointment.

  • Block time in your calendar (e.g., 7–8 a.m. daily) and protect it as you would a doctor’s appointment.
  • Use the “Two-Minute Rule”: If you think you’ll write for 15 minutes but never feel “ready,” commit to writing for just two minutes. Often, those two minutes turn into 15.
  • Set reminders (phone alarms, sticky notes, voice-to-text prompts).

Pro tip: Writing at the same time and place daily (your favourite coffee spot, a corner of your desk) builds a neural connection: “This is when/where I write.”

3. Overcome the “Wait for Inspiration” Trap

Inspiration is overrated when it comes to consistency. Most of us wait for the “perfect moment” to write, but daily writing becomes its own kind of inspiration.

  • Start with a prompt. Use apps like 750words, The Daily Post by Automattic, or even a random object (e.g., “Describe the chair you’re sitting in”).
  • Freewrite without judgment. If you’re stuck, write the first thing that comes to mind—even if it’s “I don’t know what to write.” Often, the act of writing leads you to ideas.
  • Embrace “done is better than perfect.” Aim for progress, not brilliance. You can revise tomorrow.

4. Simplify Your Process

Overcomplicated write-then-edit cycles can kill momentum. For daily writing:

  • Use a low-stakes tool. A voice recorder, a napkin, your phone’s Notes app—anything that gets words down without friction.
  • Batch-edit later. Save revisions for the next day or week. Right now, focus on moving.
  • Track progress visually. Apps like Habitica, Streaks, or even a simple calendar can create a sense of accomplishment with each checkmark.

5. Make It Accountable

Accountability is the secret sauce for habit formation.

  • Share your goal publicly. Tell a friend, post on social media, or join a writing challenge (like NaNoWriMo’s NanoWrimo Daily Prompt).
  • Join a community. Online groups or local writing circles can keep you motivated.
  • Find a writing buddy. Check in weekly to share progress and encourage each other.

6. Be Kind to Yourself—But Stay Curious

Missed a day? Don’t quit. Here’s how to navigate setback:

  • Reflect without judgment. Ask, “What got in the way?” Was it a busy week, burnout, or unclear expectations? Adjust accordingly.
  • Reframe the pause. A single missed day doesn’t erase your progress. Just pick up where you left off.
  • Celebrate small wins. Finished 200 words? That’s still a win.

7. Reconnect to Why You’re Doing This

Why does writing matter to you? Keep that vision alive by:

  • Writing a purpose statement (e.g., “I write to stay grounded, grow, or share my voice”).
  • Revisiting early work to see how far you’ve come.
  • Allowing writing to evolve with you—your habits might shift, but the core practice remains.

Final Thoughts: Daily Writing Is a Practice, Not a Performance

The goal isn’t to mimic perfection but to build a habit that sticks. Over time, daily writing becomes a muscle you can flex even when it’s hard. It’s not about writing every day—it’s about writing daily enough to notice the difference.

So start small. Let go of the pressure. One day at a time, your daily writing habit will grow—and so will you.

Now go write something today. 🖋️

What I learned about writing – Writers must read 3

Writers must read

…

Set yourself a reading list, and don’t limit yourself to the sort of genre of books that you wish to write. But, I have to admit I’m guilty of not necessarily reading everything because there are genres that I do not like.

But, for the purposes of this exercise, what you are looking for are:

  • Descriptions of locations, the methods by which the author conveys the setting, whether dark, light, eerie, scary, dripping with menace, or inspiring fear. A dark room can be just a dark room, but it can be so much more.
  • Descriptions of people. If anyone who witnessed a crime was asked to describe the guilty, ten different people would give ten different descriptions, and unless there was a distinguishing factor like he only had one arm, it might describe a quarter to half the population. Your job is to see how others do it and refine it for your characterisations.
  • Conversation. We all have conversations, but when it comes to writing them down and making them sound plausible, that’s another story. Conversation is the hardest part of this writing thing, or at least I think so.
  • Writing style. You will eventually get your own, but to begin with, it might be a little strange. Reading many similar-themed or genre books will give you some idea of what the publisher’s editors are looking for.

You will have to read quite a few. I have a library with about 3,000 books, having accumulated them over 50 years. And I think I have learned a great deal from many of them, particularly in how to write the genre of books I prefer.

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 2

Day 2 – A sustainable habit of writing every day

…

How to Ensure That Writing Daily Is Actually Writing Daily: A Guide to Building a Sustainable Habit

If you’ve ever set a goal to write every day only to falter by day three, you’re not alone. Consistency in writing can feel like a mountain to climb—especially when motivation wanes, life gets busy, or the blank page feels more intimidating than a challenge. The good news? You don’t need superhuman discipline to write daily. You just need strategy, structure, and a plan that works for you. Let’s break it down.

1. Define “Writing Daily” According to Your Needs

The phrase “write daily” can mean different things to different people:

  • Creative writing (a novel, poems, short stories).
  • Journaling (personal reflections or gratitude entries).
  • Content creation (blog posts, emails, social media captions).
  • Freewriting (stream-of-consciousness to clear your mind).

Start by clarifying your purpose. Are you building discipline, working toward a project, or simply expressing yourself? Define what “counted” as a writing day for you. For example:

  • Write 500 words every day.
  • Spend 15 minutes freewriting.
  • Draft one paragraph of a larger project.

Clarity removes ambiguity and makes the habit feel achievable.

2. Schedule It Like a Priority

Procrastination thrives in uncertainty. To beat it, treat writing like a non-negotiable appointment.

  • Block time in your calendar (e.g., 7–8 a.m. daily) and protect it as you would a doctor’s appointment.
  • Use the “Two-Minute Rule”: If you think you’ll write for 15 minutes but never feel “ready,” commit to writing for just two minutes. Often, those two minutes turn into 15.
  • Set reminders (phone alarms, sticky notes, voice-to-text prompts).

Pro tip: Writing at the same time and place daily (your favourite coffee spot, a corner of your desk) builds a neural connection: “This is when/where I write.”

3. Overcome the “Wait for Inspiration” Trap

Inspiration is overrated when it comes to consistency. Most of us wait for the “perfect moment” to write, but daily writing becomes its own kind of inspiration.

  • Start with a prompt. Use apps like 750words, The Daily Post by Automattic, or even a random object (e.g., “Describe the chair you’re sitting in”).
  • Freewrite without judgment. If you’re stuck, write the first thing that comes to mind—even if it’s “I don’t know what to write.” Often, the act of writing leads you to ideas.
  • Embrace “done is better than perfect.” Aim for progress, not brilliance. You can revise tomorrow.

4. Simplify Your Process

Overcomplicated write-then-edit cycles can kill momentum. For daily writing:

  • Use a low-stakes tool. A voice recorder, a napkin, your phone’s Notes app—anything that gets words down without friction.
  • Batch-edit later. Save revisions for the next day or week. Right now, focus on moving.
  • Track progress visually. Apps like Habitica, Streaks, or even a simple calendar can create a sense of accomplishment with each checkmark.

5. Make It Accountable

Accountability is the secret sauce for habit formation.

  • Share your goal publicly. Tell a friend, post on social media, or join a writing challenge (like NaNoWriMo’s NanoWrimo Daily Prompt).
  • Join a community. Online groups or local writing circles can keep you motivated.
  • Find a writing buddy. Check in weekly to share progress and encourage each other.

6. Be Kind to Yourself—But Stay Curious

Missed a day? Don’t quit. Here’s how to navigate setback:

  • Reflect without judgment. Ask, “What got in the way?” Was it a busy week, burnout, or unclear expectations? Adjust accordingly.
  • Reframe the pause. A single missed day doesn’t erase your progress. Just pick up where you left off.
  • Celebrate small wins. Finished 200 words? That’s still a win.

7. Reconnect to Why You’re Doing This

Why does writing matter to you? Keep that vision alive by:

  • Writing a purpose statement (e.g., “I write to stay grounded, grow, or share my voice”).
  • Revisiting early work to see how far you’ve come.
  • Allowing writing to evolve with you—your habits might shift, but the core practice remains.

Final Thoughts: Daily Writing Is a Practice, Not a Performance

The goal isn’t to mimic perfection but to build a habit that sticks. Over time, daily writing becomes a muscle you can flex even when it’s hard. It’s not about writing every day—it’s about writing daily enough to notice the difference.

So start small. Let go of the pressure. One day at a time, your daily writing habit will grow—and so will you.

Now go write something today. 🖋️